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  “Keep at it!” Frank radioed back encouragingly. “Like Jamal said earlier, you can never tell when things might turn your way.”

  The teens ended up crossing the finish line in the middle of the pack, along with Elizabeth and Taylor Fohr. They were well ahead of Sylvia Short. Amber Hawk finished first, barely edging out Paco. Marissa came in behind the top two, with Jamal placing fourth.

  “I’d have done better if I’d been on my own bike,” he told the Hardys afterward. “On the other hand, I guess I should be happy to just be here.” He smiled genuinely.

  “Let’s pick up the final placement sheet and see where we stand,” Joe said. “I’m anxious to check my handicap for the Enduro.”

  “Me too,” Frank agreed. “The woodlands should be kinder to Joe and me than this dirt track has been. Maybe we can make up for some lost time.”

  “After we do that,” Jamal said, “we should get to modifying our bikes for tomorrow. The race starts at 8 A.M. That doesn’t leave us a lot of time in the morning to get ready.”

  They picked up the sheet from the Officials’ Pavilion, then decided to stop by the office.

  “I want to thank Pops for letting me continue in the race,” Jamal explained.

  The three friends headed over to the old trailer on the east side of the property that served as the track’s office. As they approached, they heard the sound of loud conversation drifting from the open window.

  “I can’t believe it!” a voice said. “You know what this means? If it’s true, it could be the end of the benefit! It might be the end of the track, too,” the voice continued. “This could ruin everything for us.”

  11 Endurance

  * * *

  “That sounds like Pops,” Jamal whispered to his friends, listening to the conversation inside the main office. The Hardys nodded in agreement.

  “Who do you think he’s talking to?” Joe asked.

  “I can’t hear anyone else,” Frank said. “Maybe he’s on the phone.”

  “Should we listen in?” Jamal asked.

  “I think we’ve heard enough,” Joe said. He strode forward, knocked briefly, then hurried inside the trailer.

  “I’ll have to talk to you later,” Pops said into the receiver, then hung up the phone.

  “We couldn’t help but overhear,” Joe said as Frank and Jamal followed him inside. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing to concern you, boys,” Pops replied. “Just some track business.”

  “If it’s about closing down the race, then I think it is our concern,” Jamal said.

  “Is this related to the other problems with the track?” Frank asked. “The attempted burglary in your office, the explosion of Henderson’s motorcycle, the near-theft of the gate receipts, the impersonation of Jamal? These things look pretty suspicious when you put them all together.”

  “Really, boys, it’s nothing,” Pops replied. But his brave face was slipping.

  “Something’s happening here,” Joe pressed, “and it’s putting both the competition and the competitors in danger. Who were you talking to on the phone? Why might it mean the end of the benefit? Mr. Fernandez, please tell us what’s going on.”

  “Maybe we can help,” Jamal added. “We don’t want any trouble for Corrine, or your family.”

  Pops leaned against his desk and let out a long, low sigh. “Please don’t go to the media with any of this,” he said. “It really could be our ruin.”

  “We won’t,” Frank said. “And we’ll try to keep the police out of it too.”

  “I was talking to Bob Ingersoll, my lawyer,” Pops said. “He’s just informed me that one of our sponsors is a dud. He doesn’t have the money he’s pretending to have.”

  “Who?” Joe asked.

  “Asa Goldberg,” Pops said. “He’s as phony as that slight Texas accent of his. Goldberg’s import company is deeply in debt. He’s hoping publicity from this race series will boost his sales. That way, he can pay off his creditors, and keep his promise to us. If his sales don’t rise, though . . .”

  “Then he defaults on his part of the sponsorship package,” Frank said, finishing the thought.

  “Goldberg mentioned gambling to us,” Joe said thoughtfully. “I wonder if that’s how he got into debt.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Pops said. He plopped heavily into a seat behind his paper-covered desk. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Without Goldberg coming through, we could end up deeper in debt than ever. We can only soldier on and hope that Goldberg’s scheme works out. I’m not even sure that what he’s doing is illegal—even if it is unethical. If the media learned about it, though, they’d shift their attention from the benefit to the scandal, and then . . .” He leaned his elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Fernandez,” Joe said, “we won’t breathe a word of it to the media.”

  “I’m sorry that we barged in too,” Frank continued. “We’d really only come to thank you for letting Jamal finish the race on his borrowed motorcycle.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Pops said wearily. “It was the decision of the rules committee. They’re not associated with the race, and are only here to make sure the outcome is fair.”

  “Well, I’m sure you made a recommendation to them,” Jamal said.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Pops replied.

  “So, thanks,” Jamal concluded.

  “You’re welcome, Jamal,” Pops said.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Fernandez,” Joe said. “We’ll help you figure out who’s behind this trouble. We’ve solved cases like this before.”

  Pops thanked the boys, then stood and said good-bye. The Hardys and their friend returned to their garage bay.

  “If Goldberg has gambling debts, he might be willing to do anything to pay them off,” Joe said as they readied their bikes for tomorrow’s Enduro.

  “Whatever he owes money for,” Frank said, “it’s clear he benefits from added publicity at the race.”

  “Good publicity, or bad,” Jamal added. “Like spectacular crashes, and robberies—”

  “And the impersonation of one of the racers,” Joe concluded.

  “There’s a lot going on here,” Frank said, “We may not be able to sort it out right now, but before the race is over, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  • • •

  Tensions were already running high at the track by the time the Hardys and Jamal showed up the next morning for the final phase of the competition: the Enduro.

  Riders and their teams busily prepared for the race, jacking up their bikes’ suspensions, swapping out tires, and trying to optimize their engine performance for the cross-country leg of the challenge.

  The Enduro would be hours long—by far the longest race of the benefit. The competitors would start at the dirt course, enter the woodland area to the north of the Fernandez compound, then run a circuitous route overland before ending up back at the raceway.

  While the trails of the course were known to some of the local racers, the exact route had been kept secret during the previous two days of the race. Before the race, officials delivered a map of the course to the Hardys and the other riders.

  “It looks like they’ve got big Day-Glo orange tags marking the course trail,” Frank said.

  “We’ve ridden through those woods before,” Joe said. “That should give us an advantage.”

  “This will still be the toughest part of the race,” Jamal told them. “The staggered start will make it tricky to catch up to the leaders.”

  “Harder for us than for you,” Joe said. “You have an earlier start than we do, because you did better on the first two days.”

  “But we’ll still have a chance to catch you once we get going,” Frank said.

  Jamal nodded. “The race is designed to give everyone a chance.”

  “That probably burns Amber Hawk up,” Joe said. “She toasted the rest of us during the first two days of competition.”


  “Only because Ed Henderson was out of the race,” Frank noted. “He’d have given her a run for her money if he hadn’t gotten hurt.”

  “So, Hawk and Goldberg have benefited from the race’s troubles so far,” Jamal said. “Any more suspects?”

  “Justin Davies had a grudge against you, but he’s out of the picture,” Frank said.

  “There are still the folks that want that O’Sullivan SD5,” Joe reminded them. “Trent Howard wants it badly enough to loan Jamal a replacement cycle. Someone else could be making a play for it too.”

  “Do you really think the bike could be what all this is about?” Jamal asked. “Even with the parts from Garth Metzger’s garage, it’s not worth that much. Mr. Howard told us that himself.”

  “I hope we can figure this out before anyone else gets hurt,” Frank said. “Let’s prep our bikes. Then we can scout our competition.”

  Joe chuckled. “And by ‘competition,’ my brother means suspects.”

  The other riders kept mostly to themselves as they prepared for the race. Amber Hawk closed the doors to her private bay as she readied her motorcycle. The Hayday sisters worked animatedly on Marissa’s bike. Richard Navarro showed up to help his daughter, Elizabeth, again. He was covered in grease and holding a wrench in his hand when the brothers walked by the Navarro bay. Taylor Fohr shared that space, but he wasn’t talking to his garage-mates.

  “You know, it’d be so much easier if villains wore symbols to make them stand out,” Joe mused.

  “You mean something like a skull-and-crossbones?” Frank asked, glancing at Elizabeth’s helmet.

  “Yeah. Like that. Of course, her yellow and white uniform detracts from the overall menacing effect.” The younger Hardy smiled.

  “So does her new motorcycle,” Frank said. “If you’re going to be a racing pirate, you really need a beat-up old bike.”

  “Like that one with the kick-starter that the prowler had,” Joe concluded.

  The brothers found Paco Fernandez near the race office, talking to Jules Kendallson. The two shook hands, though Paco looked somewhat disappointed. Kendallson wasn’t dressed for riding. He was wearing cutoffs and a T-shirt. A new white bandage was wound around his forehead and another around his right knee.

  “What’s wrong?” Joe asked Paco.

  “Jules and Sylvia are dropping out of the race,” Paco said glumly. “We hate to see them go, especially at this late stage.”

  Frank frowned. “Why are you leaving, Jules?” he asked.

  “Sylvia and I were out partying last night,” Kendallson said. “We had a little wipeout, and got banged up.” He pointed to the bandage on his head. “So Sylvia and I are taking the day off. We hate missing out on the prizes, but . . . well, we aren’t in the top rankings anyway.”

  “What about your pledges?” Joe asked.

  Kendallson scratched his head. “They’ll come through,” he said. “Hey, Paco, again, tell the rest of the family we’re sorry.” He turned and headed for the main gate.

  Paco shook his head. “With Henderson and Davies out, and now these two plus a few more, the field is looking kind of thin. I just hope our sponsors don’t see it that way.”

  “The top racers are still in the hunt, though,” Frank said. “And you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  “I’m right behind Hawk,” Paco replied. He forced a smile. “We’re counting on everyone left to make this a really great and exciting race.”

  “No problem,” Joe said.

  Paco gazed toward the track. “You’d better get to your bikes—it’s almost start time.”

  The brothers went back to the garage, where they found Jamal finishing his preparations. The three of them rolled their bikes out to the course.

  “I was thinking,” Joe said to Frank as they went, “that Kendallson might not have gotten that leg injury last night. He could have hurt it making those jumps during the pipe factory chase.”

  Jamal nodded. “He wasn’t in that heat, so he could have had time to clock me and be my replacement. We’re about the same size.”

  “Size is hard to tell under the riding armor,” Frank reminded them. “It really could have been just about anyone.”

  “But if Kendallson replaced Jamal, why did he do it?” Joe asked. “And how does his buddy Sylvia Short fit into the scheme?”

  Frank shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But all of us had better be careful during this phase of the race.”

  The contestants lined up in order of their placement: Those who had done best during the first two days of the race got a head start on the others; those with the lowest combined scores, would start later. Jamal was starting early, and Frank and Joe were placed in the middle pack.

  “Welcome to the exciting final phase of the benefit challenge!” Corrine Fernandez’s voice said over the loudspeaker. “Starting times will be staggered, according to each competitor’s finish time during the previous two days. Everyone will race the course at the same time. The first racer over the finish line wins the competition—and the grand prize. Good luck, everyone! Here comes the starting signal for the first rider . . . GO!”

  Amber Hawk roared off the line and around the dirt track, heading for the trail in the woods. Fifteen seconds later, Paco followed her; then, the others, according to their previous finish times.

  The Hardys were starting in the first group, though well behind the leaders. They watched Elizabeth Navarro start, then Jamal.

  “She looks a little shaky again today,” Joe said about Navarro.

  “I can’t figure out what’s up with her,” Frank said. “One race she seems like a novice; then the next, an expert.”

  “Maybe she’s got a bad case of nerves,” Joe said. He nodded in the direction of Elizabeth’s father, Richard. He was standing atop a nearby hill, fidgeting with a stopwatch.

  Frank pulled his helmet on and checked the radio link. “Time to go,” he said. He shot off the line, followed a few seconds later by Joe.

  The two of them tooled around the dirt track before heading into the woods. The trees cut down visibility to either side, but they could still make out the other racers ahead of them.

  Jamal had a good lead on the brothers, but Elizabeth Navarro had nearly caught up with him. Paco and Hawk also remained within sight. Even the top finishers seemed to be having some difficulty with the cross-country course.

  Taylor Fohr rode between Navarro and the brothers. Frank and Joe took up positions nearly side by side—the way they traditionally rode together.

  As they sped forward, Fohr began gaining on Navarro’s shiny yellow and white 125.

  Suddenly Navarro swerved, avoiding some obstacle in the trail that the Hardys couldn’t see.

  Fohr didn’t spot it either. His front tire went into a deep rut in the road, and his back wheel skidded out from under him. He lost control of his bike and tumbled sideways, right in front of Frank and Joe.

  12 Hidden Dangers

  * * *

  The Hardys hit the brakes as Fohr rolled toward their motorcycles. Fohr’s bike spun like a top, throwing its rider off.

  Frank and Joe swerved, both leaving the trail to avoid the falling cyclist and his machine.

  Joe cut to the right, narrowly missing both Fohr’s legs and the careening motorcycle. Frank cleared the spinning bike on the left, but headed for a stand of thick trees.

  He cut the handlebars hard, and just avoided a big pine at the trailside. The elder Hardy skitted between several small saplings, their branches slapping against the side of his helmet.

  Fohr rolled into the woods on the right side of the trail. His bike, badly damaged, crashed into a tree on the left. Fohr got up woozily; his riding armor saved him from serious injury. He got out a race-issued field phone and called for help.

  In their rearview mirrors, Frank and Joe saw him get up. They both breathed a sigh of relief and steered back onto the trail.

  “Watch out for that dip!” Frank called to Joe as they came up
to the depression that had unseated Fohr.

  The brothers whizzed past it, unscathed. “I don’t know how Navarro saw that coming,” Joe radioed back.

  “Maybe we underestimated her skills in the woods,” Frank said.

  Trees flashed by as the cross-country trail wound deep into the heart of the forest. The brothers stuck close to each other—out of habit and because there seemed to be more safety in riding together.

  “This has changed a lot since we last rode here,” Joe said.

  “I think we just missed this part of the trails,” Frank called back.

  He watched Navarro deftly dodge around the obstacles ahead of them. Though she wasn’t the fastest racer in the pack, she was rapidly gaining on the leaders, who seemed to be having more trouble with the course.

  “It looks like Navarro knows this trail real well,” Joe noted.

  Frank nodded. “She seemed shaky at first, but the way she’s riding now, you’d never know it.”

  Another racer ahead of them went down, unseated by the trunk of a newly fallen sapling at the turn of a bend. Again, Navarro avoided the obstacle.

  “She must have eyes like an eagle,” Joe said. “No wonder this trail is slowing the top riders down. There are hidden dangers at every turn.”

  “Don’t let her get too far ahead,” Frank radioed back. “She can scout the land for us.”

  The trail looped left, then right, then cut back on itself. The brothers lost sight of Navarro more and more as stretches of clear road became less frequent.

  The whir of a helicopter overhead made the Hardys glanced up.

  “Covering the race, do you think?” Frank asked.

  “Probably,” Joe replied. “Look out!”

  Frank ducked out of the way just in time as a thick, overhanging branch whizzed past his head. Joe ducked too, and the big tree limb scraped past his helmet.

  “Someone could have lost a head on that!” Joe said angrily. “Why didn’t they eliminate a hazard like that from the course?”